A sudden storm hit Silvercrest one afternoon, forcing everyone indoors. The thunder echoed through the halls as Ariana searched for Kian, worry gnawing at her chest. 🌪
She found him in the music room—sitting alone, staring at the rain.
"Kian?"
He didn't turn at first.
"I don't like storms," he said quietly.
Ariana approached slowly.
"Do they scare you?"
He finally looked at her, eyes shadowed with something old and painful.
"They remind me of things I try not to remember."
Her heart tightened.
She sat beside him, their knees touching.
"You don't have to tell me," she whispered. "But you're not alone." 🌬
He looked at her hand resting on the piano.
After a long moment, he placed his hand over hers.
Warm.
Shaky.
Vulnerable.
"I used to stand by the window as a kid," he said quietly. "Watching storms alone. No one ever came to check on me."
Ariana felt her chest ache.
"Well," she whispered, sliding her fingers between his, "you're not alone anymore."
Kian closed his eyes, leaning slightly toward her;
his forehead almost touching her temple.
He wasn't crying, but his breath trembled.
And Ariana realized…
this was deeper than romance.
This was healing. đź’’